


Spoilsport

by tinsnip



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Flirty, M/M, Silly, who's the boss? - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-10
Updated: 2014-12-10
Packaged: 2018-02-28 21:13:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2747312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinsnip/pseuds/tinsnip
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Julian would really very much like to be the boss. Just this once? All right? Okay? Please, Elim?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spoilsport

There was exactly one thing Julian Bashir could rely on when it came to Elim Garak, and that thing was the following: no matter what Julian had planned, Garak would spoil it.

If he tried to astound him with literary insight—into a little-known Human work, say, or something a trifle obscure from Andor, something _impressive—_ Garak would already know all about it. And would destroy his arguments with calm precision between delicate bites of lunch. And would sometimes rub salt into the wound by tutting at him. Actually _tutting._

If he brought him along on a holosuite adventure, hoping to show off a bit and look natty in a tux, well, count on Garak to be quietly sarcastic about the whole thing and poke holes in the story’s logic and generally be an amusing nuisance until Julian had rather given up on saving the world in favour of laughing at Garak. Really, talk about missing the point.

And when it came to _sex,_ well, _honestly—_

This entire complicated sort-of-relationship _thing_ had been a bit of a shock to him, really. Granted, Garak had always been fun to be around, an enjoyable chat, a good dresser (so said Jadzia, anyway), and God, he’d been mysterious and intriguing as all get-out, hadn’t he, which was an irresistible lure to one Julian Bashir…

But ye Gods, he hadn’t expected him to be good in bed, as well!

So far it had been very _yes-sir_ type of stuff, as Garak seemed to like being the boss, and that had been fine by Julian. He was delighted to do as he was told in that particular setting. Rather enjoyed it, in fact, which had worked out well given Leeta’s predilections. Still, a man did have to stand up for himself at some point, yes? He had to turn the tables and say _look, you, you_ _’re not going to have it all your own way,_ if for no other reason that the way it tended to spice things up.

Not that things _needed_ spicing up, particularly. But life was for fun. And the idea of Garak bending willingly to his nefarious whims… well, that was _very_ fun. He rather wanted to twirl an imaginary moustache and cackle at the thought of it.

And so he’d planned it out meticulously. Tonight, he’d said to himself firmly, you are going to march in there and take no prisoners. You’re going to pin him to the bed, you’re going to make him shout, you’re going to wipe that smug smile off his face and make his _eyes_ cross, or you aren’t Julian Subatoi Bashir, salutatorian of the class of 2368!

He’d grinned his way through his day, anticipating it, and had even done a bit of a jig on his way down the corridor when no one could see him.

When the door had hissed open, there Garak had stood, just as planned, and his eyes had widened delightfully as Julian had grabbed him by the ridges and walked him firmly backwards, glaring at him, positively radiating _dominant male who_ _’s feeling rather tetchy_ , and then when he’d shoved him back over the bed, buckling his knees and dropping him to the mattress…

Damn the man, really.

Garak had stopped him cold in his tracks by the simple expedient of wrapping his arms around Julian’s middle and kissing him.

And not one of his trademark bitey kisses either, all _ouch_ and tingles. No, this had been a lazy kiss, all open mouth and soft lips and gentle and what the hell was he supposed to do, really, when the man simply refused to play along? He always ended up playing Garak’s game, didn’t he, no matter how clever he thought he was being.

Hmmph. The whole thing would be enough to make him feel rather put out, if he wasn’t so damned delighted.

Now Garak’s arms squeezed him tightly, pressing him up against Garak’s torso, so very nice and barrelly, and he wasn’t at all motivated to shove him around by the ridges anymore, was he… no, apparently not, as his hands had decided of their own accord, traitorous things, to loosen their grip and dangle themselves over his back and oh, God, Garak was running the show again, and dominant male Julian Bashir was flopped against him like some kind of swooning… thing. Something that swooned. He’d think of it in a minute. Right now he was being kissed rather thoroughly, and it… oh, it didn’t really matter…

When Garak broke the kiss, pulling away from him for just a moment, he made a rather embarrassing sort of whining sound and tried to kiss him again. He was denied, which rankled.

“Are you going to claim me tonight, my dear?” Oh, and the man’s voice was all liquid silk, God, it really wasn’t fair.

“I’d… rather hoped to…” Which was pathetic.

Garak smiled at him, his eyes doing that remarkably transparent blue thing. “How pleasant. By all means…”

And now the man let himself fall backwards on to the bed, draping his arms out behind him, eyes laughing, oh, _damn_ him.

“Make me yours, Doctor Bashir.”

He really ought to say no. That would show him, wouldn’t it. But there wasn’t a chance of that, not if his body had anything to say about it, which, honestly, it usually did.

He did at least take the time to shake his head, purse his lips, and give Garak a very meaningful glance. That had to be good for a bit of dignity. “One of these days, you know, I _will_ surprise you.”

Garak batted his lashes at him. Batted his actual lashes. “And what a treat that will be. Now get down here.”

There was exactly one thing that one could rely on regarding Julian Subatoi Bashir, salutatorian of the class of 2368, and that thing was the following: he wasn’t stupid.

He got down there, and shortly thereafter found that dignity was overrated, and that, yes, ha, with proper encouragement, Garak’s eyes _would_ cross, so _there,_ he could indeed be dominant, couldn’t he _just._

Still, Garak had come out rather well in this, hadn’t he. Pfft. Really, no matter what he planned, Garak would always find some way to spoil it…

But now as Garak smiled up at him, pliant and acquiescent and all kinds of charming, well… _spoil_ was such a broad term, wasn’t it…?


End file.
